


then/now

by ere_the_sun_rises



Series: Esther on Ice [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Best Friends, Birthday, Flashbacks, Friendship, Halloween, Other, Pining, Pumpkins, Skype
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 19:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12588612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ere_the_sun_rises/pseuds/ere_the_sun_rises
Summary: On Otabek's eighteenth birthday, Esther reminisces about the first birthday they spent together.





	then/now

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Otabek (happy birthday, babe!), because he's my favorite, and I love him. I saw this as a good opportunity, in addition, to deal with a subplot that I addressed, initially, in a few paragraphs within Esther on Ice. I was never really satisfied with that, but writing this little story let me flesh it out into what I feel it deserved. Accordingly, I've made a few changes to the relevant chapters of Esther on Ice, though it really doesn't amount to much--a line altered in chapter 6, and a few removed from chapter 8.
> 
> then: October 31st, 2013  
> now: October 31st, 2016
> 
>  [my tumblr](https://polytropospolymetis.tumblr.com/)

**now**

Emanuel entered the kitchen on the morning of October 31st to find Esther, quite literally, elbows-deep in a pumpkin.

“What are you up to?” he asked, once it became clear that she wasn’t going to dignify his stopping to stare with an explanation.

“It’s October 31st,” she said.

Emanuel blinked. “Last I checked.”

“So I wanted to do something festive. I went to get a pumpkin, so I could carve it…then I realized we don’t have the right _things_ for carving up a pumpkin, and carving pumpkins is stupid anyway, but I still got a pumpkin, so I’m going to make a pie out of it.”

“I see.”

She scooped out a handful of pumpkin goop, lobbed it into a waiting bowl and gave him a searching look. “Have you ever had roasted pumpkin seeds before?”

“I haven’t, no.”

“Oh! I’ve got to do that, then. It’s _life_ -changing.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Her coach chuckled. He crossed the floor, leaned over the other side of the counter and peered into the pumpkin. “Do you usually celebrate Halloween like this?”

Esther gave a noncommittal shrug. “I liked to decorate the house. My favorite part was the kids trick-or-treating. I don’t think that’s done much outside of the States, though.” She sighed, softly, shoulders slumping. “I don’t regret coming here for a second, but I’m gonna miss that.”

“And you wanted to do…something,” he surmised, moving around behind her to put the kettle on. “To remind you of that.”

“Yeah.” Again, she shrugged. “Pumpkin pie is more of a Thanksgiving thing, to be honest, but that doesn’t happen here either, so I figure I can make it whenever I feel like it—and the pumpkins are in season, so…”

Emanuel smiled. “Well, I certainly won’t object.”

“Thought you wouldn’t.” Another handful of pumpkin guts went into the bowl, and Esther shooed Emanuel away from the spices set out on the countertop; he went—primly, with the air of a cat feigning disinterest—to the couch, where he picked up _Notre-Dame de Paris_.

Her real cat appeared soon after. He paused to chirrup at her—“Hello, Suie,” she cooed, distracted, but he was sufficiently satisfied to wind around her ankles and cross over to the living room, hop up next to Emanuel and leech off the warmth of his legs. The apartment lapsed into the comfortable, domestic silence of afternoon, and as always, it invited thought.

She would miss the trick-or-treaters—even in her lowest moments, children had managed to reach her like no one really could. That, however, didn’t account for all her restlessness: October 31st had ceased to be only Halloween to her three years ago: exactly, now. Today, however, was the first day that it didn’t hurt to think about it.

She was smiling, she realized. _I wonder if he got my package._ The shipping manifest had projected today as the date of delivery. It would be perfect, so long as everything worked the way it was supposed to. Somehow, her cynical heart found ways to hope for such endings.

The matter, being out of her hands as it was, slipped her mind quickly. Her thoughts, now, were of the past, of a cold night in Boston three years gone.

 

**then**

Standing in a crowded, noisy room, one which was intermittently pitch dark and blindingly bright, Esther was tempted to say she didn’t like parties. Suzanne had invited everyone, and Esther _never_ got invited to anything, but she’d insisted specially that Esther come, and so, here Esther was. Most of the partygoers were from Suzanne’s school—their rinkmates were there, but Esther didn’t really know any of them well enough to approach them, and they all seemed like they’d found their groups already; she didn’t want to intrude.

That was how Esther found her way to the snack table in the kitchen; somewhat removed from the pounding music and flashing lights, and in possession of a large plastic bowl which, after some searching, yielded a fun-size Twix bar. She pulled out her phone and opened her messages, tapped on the top conversation without hesitation.

_E: Hey. Are you not going to Suzanne’s party?_

Her reply was a moment in coming.

_O: No._

_E: Why not?_

His “typing” bubble appeared and disappeared a few times. It wasn’t uncommon—Otabek was careful with his words—but it made her feel jittery and anxious, like she couldn’t handle any more social rejection for the night.

_O: I don’t really want to. Are you there?_

_E: Yeah._

_E: It’s kind of boring._

_E: What are you doing?_

She hated feeling like bothering him, but she was alone at this party, and Otabek was the only person that never seemed to get annoyed with how clingy she could be.

_O: Just hanging out in my room._

_O: Want to come over?_

Esther breathed a sigh of relief, pocketed her phone, and went upstairs right away to retrieve her jacket. Suzanne had directed her to her room to deposit it when she’d arrived—not more than a half-hour ago, though it felt like an age—Esther opened the door and failed to stifle the sharp, squeaking gasp that escaped her when she saw the couple on the bed, just a few inches away from the pile of jackets. “Sorry!” she choked, darting in to find hers and retreat, as fast as she could manage. She didn’t bother to look for Suzanne before she left: the last she’d seen her, she’d been in the thick of the dancing.

Esther walked to North Quincy, boarded the inbound train and rode in Park Street, where she changed for the green line and rode all the way out to the end of the E-branch, at Heath Street.

Otabek lived in a tiny apartment in Mission Hill; he shared with Jason, another of their rinkmates. Jason was older than them, but Esther got the impression that he was fairly quiet, and in that way, he and Otabek were a perfect match. Their building was mostly students from Northeastern—it all seemed very grown-up. She stopped before the door and dialed his number on her phone. “Hey, I’m here. Can you buzz me in?”

A few moments later, she was taking the stairs to the second floor. His door was unlocked, so she let herself in, took off her shoes and found him in his room. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, laptop perched on his knees—he looked up when she appeared in the doorframe, blinked impassively, deadpanned: “Nice outfit.”

“Shut up, it was a costume party.” Esther shucked her jacket and draped it over the back of his desk chair, dropping next to him on the mattress.

“What are you supposed to be?” he eyed her jumpsuit.

“Katniss,” she pointed at her braid. “From the new movie?”

“Oh,” he looked at her another moment, before he turned his attention back to the screen. “Right.”

She peered over his shoulder. “What have you been doing?”

“I talked to my parents for a while, after school. I made dinner after that, and then I did my homework—”

“Nerd,” Esther poked his side.

“—and it’s my birthday, so—”

“It’s _WHAT?”_ she screeched, sitting back. Otabek gave her a flat look; she responded with an indignant glare. “You mean it’s your birthday and you didn’t even _tell_ me?”

“Well, I don’t normally make a big deal out of it,” he shrugged. “When I was at home, my family would just have a nice dinner at home. Sometimes my friends and I would hang out.”

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“I just told you. I don’t like to make a big deal about it.”

Esther continued to stare at him, bewildered. Otabek’s was, at times, a realm of existence far beyond her comprehension. “Well…happy birthday.”

“Thank you.” He acknowledged her salutation with a simple dip of the head.

They held each other’s eyes until it was uncomfortable. Esther looked down, then, and her anxious fingers started playing with the loops at the ends of her sleeves; they reminded her of some of her skating costumes.

It was moments like these that made her remember that her and Otabek’s friendship was still young; they’d connected quickly, more deeply than she ever had with anyone, so completely that she couldn’t think of him as anything _but_ her best friend. So many of her prayers (though she would never call them that, aloud) had been answered in him. Otabek made her forget about never being invited to parties—she would even say she didn’t care, if she could be sure they would be together forever. It didn’t change the fact that she had known him, all told, for a few months, even if it felt like a long time now. The moments where they discovered new things about each other, though growing fewer and far between, still came. Sometimes they were fun, like finding out they liked the same kind of classical music; other times, they were like this, leaving her feeling as awkward as she did with everyone else. At least Otabek never seemed to hold it against her.

“So…do you know what you want to watch?” she asked, breaking the long silence.

“Nothing looks interesting,” he admitted.

“Hm.” Esther looked at the screen, but nothing jumped out at her, either. Just then, an utterly inspired idea came to her (it happened, occasionally), and she swatted excitedly at his arm. “Hey! Do you want to go to the movies? They have that new Romeo and Juliet, with Hailee Steinfeld. My dad said she was really good in _True Grit_.”

“Are your parents expecting you back?” Otabek asked her. He was trying to be responsible, but she could see the spark of mischief in his eyes, ready to be coaxed out.

She shook her head, grinning. “Not until midnight. It’s not even nine yet.”

He needed no more convincing. “Let’s go.” He retrieved his jacket from the closet, she went to the door to slide her boots back on. Otabek followed right after her, locked the door behind them, and took the lead down the stairs.

There was a theater less than five minutes away. They’d gone in the summer to see _Pacific Rim_ , and she remembered it fondly: it had been the first thing they’d really done as friends, something that changed them from people who liked hanging out during breaks at practice to people who actually spent time together. They stole down the sidewalk like a pair of thieves and darted into the theater to escape the cold. As luck would have it, there was a showing starting in only a few moments’ time. The girl at the ticket booth gave them an odd look— _it must be a slow night,_ Esther thought, as they took their seats in the nearly-empty theater. _Or maybe it’s because I’m still wearing my costume._

She’d insisted on buying his ticket, and snacks for both of them—bending the rules of their diets was their _thing_ , and it was hardly a movie without snacks. Surprisingly, Otabek hadn’t put up a fight. He’d reached for his wallet, in the beginning, but he’d slid it back into his pocket at her insistence, and he hadn’t even tried to get it out at the snack counter. She stole a sideways glance at him, in the harsh glow of the big screen—he was as indecipherable as ever, but somehow she felt that she’d done well.

Two hours later saw them exiting into the night, complaining spiritedly. “I don’t see how you can even call that _Romeo and Juliet!_ They didn’t even use most of the dialogue!”

“It wouldn’t have been as bad if they’d named it something different,” he agreed. “Like, if they’d called it ‘Verona’.”

“Hey, that’s actually a really good title.” Esther sighed and shoved her hands into her pockets. “Now I just want to watch something that’s _really_ Shakespeare.”

Otabek kept pace by her side, thoughtfully quiet. “You could come to my place tomorrow night.”

“And we can watch _Much Ado About Nothing_ , the superior Shakespearean romance?” she wheeled to face him, beaming hopefully.

“Only if we watch _Henry V_ , too,” he replied, the tiniest hint of a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Unable to help herself, she squealed and threw an arm around his shoulders; Otabek was a good inch shorter than her, which made him one of the few people she could do it to. He always looked so conflicted, too, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to allow it or not. After a moment, she let him go; outside of her pocket, her hand got cold quickly. “I’ll ask my parents.” They were tight about her free time, especially since they’d already given her tonight for the party, but they had to let her have at least _one_ night over the weekend.

They’d reached his apartment building—Esther stopped, anticipating his departure, but he’d come to a halt as well. “Let me go home with you,” he said. “It’s late. It’ll be safer together.”

She agreed readily—she’d lived here long enough that being afraid of the city streets after dark wasn’t really a choice, but she would never turn down anything, if it meant more time with him.

“I had fun,” he said, on the train to Copley station.

“I wanted to do something for you,” she said, keeping her voice down out of habit. The only other person on the train at this hour was someone who looked like a college student. “It’s your birthday, and…you’re my friend.”

“Well, I liked it. So…thank you.”

Esther smiled and watched the lights pass by in the windows, feeling warm inside.

“I’m glad I came here,” he told her, as they pulled out of Mission Park. The college student had disembarked, leaving them alone in their car. “It’s hard. Being away from home. I miss my friends and my family in Almaty. But I’m learning a lot. I’m getting better. And I got to meet you.”

The compliment failed to register: something in her failed to comprehend his kindness, the same way it did whenever her parents told her she’d done something right on the ice. Still, it flustered her, perhaps even more than she normally would have been. “I’m…glad you came here too.”

“I know I’m not always easy to get along with. But you’re always kind. And you’re never anything but honest. I like that about you.”

Esther looked ahead and hoped her cheeks weren’t flushed. “Thank you.” After a moment, the embarrassment passed and gave way to happiness. The rest of her walk was spent in silence: they said goodbye at her driveway, and when her parents asked her how the party was, she answered, simply, “It was fun.”

And if anyone looked on at the rink the next day, puzzled, as Esther handed Otabek a pack of thick, fluffy socks, they didn’t dwell on it. He had been heard to mention on at least one occasion, over the past few weeks, that his feet got cold during practice.

 

**now**

Esther dropped the last of the pumpkin into the bowl and surveyed the empty gourd with a small nod of satisfaction. Her reminiscing had put her in a good mood; it was the rare memory that made her smile. The kettle was beginning to rattle behind her—Emanuel slid a finger under his current page, which meant he was about to turn it and slide in the marker.

In that moment, her laptop started up the Skype tone. She glanced at the pop-up and nearly gasped. “Emanuel! Can you get this for me? I’ve got pumpkin all over my hands.”

“Oh, so _now_ you want me in the kitchen,” he grumbled, getting up, nonetheless. “My water happens to be ready; you’re lucky this happened to be on my way.” He accepted the call and turned the camera on for her—she delivered her best angelic smile, and he gave her the look she’d dubbed _I’m going to continue to pretend to be inconvenienced,_ before he turned to make his tea.

Esther looked at the screen, watched the picture materialize out of pixels. “Hey, you!” she chirped, in Russian. Emanuel turned to the screen and issued a deep, theatrical sigh—she caught the aroma of his favorite peach tea.

She smiled at Otabek’s handsome face on the screen, looked down at her pumpkin and hoped she wasn’t blushing. “Happy birthday.”

“ _Ça me soule_.” Emanuel picked up his tea, stopped at the couch to tuck his book under his arm, and proceeded back towards his room. Suie meowed, got up, and hopped down to follow him.

Otabek chuckled, and Esther managed a good-natured roll of her eyes. “How’s your day so far? It’s…what, sixteen hundred or so over there?”

He nodded. “I was out with my friends. I’m heading to my parents’ place in an hour or so. I figured it’d be a good time to call you.” She’d left him a message first thing after she woke up— _I don’t know what you have planned today, but I want to say happy birthday in person. Let me know when you have time._ “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” he eyed the pumpkin.

“Oh, no!” frantically, she shook her head. “Nothing important. I can bake and talk. I prefer it that way, to be honest.”

“What are you making?”

“Pumpkin pie.”

“Hmm.”

“Did you have fun with your friends?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d you do?”

“Hit the town. Went to our favorite places.” He picked something up and jiggled it in her view. “Then I came back, and found this waiting for me.”

She couldn’t quite stifle her gasp of delight. “It came!”

He gave her a narrow-eyed look, though he was struggling to keep down a smile. “You know I don’t like being fussed over—”

“Oh, shut _up_. You don’t like being fussed over, I know, but you should know by now that I _fuss_ , so we’re just going to have to find a middle ground somewhere. You’re my friend, and you only have one birthday a year, so I got you something that made me think of you.” Satisfied that she’d plucked the last of the seeds, Esther went to the sink to rinse her hands off. She turned her head to call over her shoulder: “If you can deal with that, I can promise you I’ll never give you something in public, or send you a stripper-gram. Or an anything-gram.”

“Okay,” Otabek chuckled, and reached for a pair of scissors to get through the tape. Esther bit down on her lip, jittery with anticipation, and tried to look like she wasn’t watching him. He wrestled the box tabs open, reached in and withdrew the plain white box. “What _is_ this?” he tilted it, looked for a label. “It’s like a garment box, but it’s little.”

“Oh my God, just _open_ it.”

“Don’t rush me,” he retorted, giving her a reproachful look that would’ve fooled anyone who didn’t know him. Finally, he slid off the top—for a long moment, he just gaped. He tilted them this way and that, looked at them in the light. “Esther,” he said, soft, sounding like he’d been going for disapproval, but had gotten lost somewhere in wonder. “These are exquisite. They must have cost a fortune.”

“Let me see.” He tilted them obligingly towards the camera, and her smile broadened. “It’s even better than I thought.” The citrine picked up beautifully on the ember-spark highlights in his dark eyes, played nicely with the bronze of his skin. “And _don’t_ start with that. I am the Skate America silver medalist, you know.”

“Esther—”

“Oh, shush. I saw them months ago in a suit shop in Marseilles, and they made me think of you right away. I just didn’t realize it until I saw you again. Do you like them?”

He stole another look at the cufflinks. A soft smile stole over him. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Her heart thumped dangerously to look at him, and she busied herself cracking eggs into the bowl. “I’m glad.”

“They’re very…grown-up.”

She snuck a peek at him, found him wearing his thoughtful look. “How does it feel? Being eighteen. Different?”

He shook his head. “No. Somehow I thought it would.”

“That’s how I felt. I mean, I sort of knew it wouldn’t be that different, but a part of me still expected I’d wake up feeling like I knew everything.” _More like hoped. And it was a fool’s hope, but aren’t they all?_

Otabek was still admiring the cufflinks. “I think I’ll wear them at NHK. At the banquet.”

Something beneath her heart simmered with slow satisfaction at the thought of him wearing something that she’d given him. There was no real way to say that, though, not without being weird, or starting a conversation that neither of them were ready for, so she just smiled and measured out condensed milk.

“I keep thinking,” he set the box aside, “about when we were out on the Navy Pier.”

“Yeah?” she prompted, heart quickening. The picture she'd taken of him there, awash in the sunset, buttercream frosting on the corner of his mouth, was still her home screen.

“I’m just…happy. That I have you around again. I feel so lucky, just for that.”

 _He definitely didn’t make me blush this much three years ago._ “Me too.” _Speaking of…_ “I’ve been thinking too, you know.”

“What about?”

“That first birthday we spent together. In Boston.”

“Oh.” He let out a single, rare laugh; she held it close to her heart. “The one where you showed up at my house in a jumpsuit—”

“Because I came from Suzanne’s _awful_ party—”

“—and we went and saw that terrible _Romeo and Juliet_ —”

“—and I gave you a pack of socks the next day, because I wanted to get you _something_ —”

“—but I don’t like being fussed over—”

“—and I didn’t want to weird you out, but you were my friend, and it was your birthday, and you always complained about how your feet were cold.” She finished with a smile, drank in the sight of him in her screen, six thousand kilometers away.

“That was one of my favorites,” he said. Esther’s breath caught—she had to look away, busied herself with dumping the spices in the bowl. “I think I still owe you a showing of _Much Ado About Nothing_.”

“And _Henry V_ ,” she reminded him. _That’s right. My parents nixed that one._

“This summer,” he said, like he kept saying, “in the off-season, when you come visit Almaty—”

“When I come visit Almaty,” she repeated, teasing, measuring out sugar.

“We’ll watch them.”

“Right.” She reached for her whisk. “If we can fit it in with meeting your family, and skating at your rink, and visiting the art museum, and hiking in the mountains—”

“Okay,” he chuckled.

“—hanging out with your friends, going to your favorite café—”

“ _Okay_.” He shook his head at her, but he wore a look of impossible fondness, one she knew that she was mirroring perfectly. The sweet ache of wanting settled in somewhere beneath her breastbone, and she watched him watching her, wondered how to tell someone _I think I made a mistake, I don’t know if I’ll ever be satisfied with just being your friend—_

His eyes flicked off to the side. “I should go. I want to get a quick nap before I go to my parents’. These whole-family things always go pretty late.”

“Okay. I’ll let you go, then.”

“Thank you, again. For these.” Carefully, he slid the lid back onto the cufflinks. “They really are beautiful.”

 _Not nearly as much as the guy I got them for._ “You’re welcome. Talk to you on…Sunday?”

He nodded. “I’ll see you then.”

“Bye, Beka,” she gave him a little wave, biting down on the softness of her smile. “Happy birthday.”

A single, sheepish chuckle huffed out of him. “Thanks. Bye, Esther.”

“Bye.” He cut the call, and Esther looked down into her half-mixed pumpkin puree, smiling absently as she resumed mixing.

After a moment, Emanuel poked his head out from the hallway. “Oh, good, it’s safe out here again.” He strode to the couch, set his book down, and proceeded to the sink with his teacup and saucer. “For those of us that don’t speak Russian.”

“Emanuel,” Esther said, as she forced the whisk through the lumps in the bowl.

“Yes?”

“Let’s make it to Barcelona.”

There was a brief silence from him, and she wasn’t looking, but she could imagine the look on his face.

“…of course. Yes. Good. Very good.”

Esther just smiled, held onto the embers beneath her heart, and made a wish. _Next birthday, Beka, I hope I’ll be with you again._

**Author's Note:**

> please yell with me in the comments


End file.
